CHAPTER 48: FAMILY CALL

Chapter 48: Family Call

( One Day Before Fresher Ball )

The soft hum of the dormitory’s mana lamps filled the otherwise quiet room.

Michael lay back in his chair, one hand covering his eyes, as the weight of the day pressed down on him. Training, classes, professors, and the constant awareness that the Fresher’s Ball loomed like a storm cloud above the Academy... all of it swirled in his mind.

Then—

Bzzzzt.

His Academy Smart Watch vibrated, the silver band lighting up with a soft blue glow. He frowned, lowering his hand. For a moment he thought it was another Academy alert, maybe an assignment reminder. But when the holographic screen unfolded above his wrist, the display made his chest tighten.

Incoming call – Darius & Lilly Willson.

Home.

Michael quickly straightened his posture. He hadn’t seen their faces since the entrance ceremony.

The screen flared to life, projecting the grainy but warm image of his parents.

"Michael!"

His mother, Lilly Benrick, appeared first—brown hair tied messily, apron still dusted with flour as if she had run straight from the kitchen. Her soft eyes widened the instant she saw him, trembling with relief.

Beside her came his father, Darius Willson. Broad-shouldered, with scars that ran across his jaw, he still wore pieces of guild armor. His expression was stern, but the corners of his lips betrayed his pride.

"There you are, son," Darius said, voice deep and steady. "Finally caught you."

Michael blinked, then forced a small smile. "...Father. Mother. You both look—"

"Tired? Worn out?" Darius barked a laugh, cutting him off. "Well, can’t be helped. The Willson Guild just came crawling out of a C-rank dungeon after twenty-four damned days. Almost forgot how sunlight felt."

Lilly lightly elbowed her husband. "Don’t scare him with those stories right away." She turned back to Michael, her tone gentler. "We wanted to call earlier... but the expedition cut off our link. You must have thought we forgot about your results."

Michael shook his head quickly. "No. I knew you were busy."

There was a pause. His mother’s smile faltered, as if she was afraid of the answer she might hear. "Michael... tell us honestly. Did you... make it? Into the Academy?"

Her voice trembled. His father’s gaze hardened, though Michael could see the worry beneath.

Before he could answer, Darius added, "Son, listen. If you didn’t, it doesn’t matter. You’ve got Willson blood in you. You could come back home tomorrow, join the guild, and carve your own path. Rank or no rank, we’d stand with you."

Lilly nodded firmly. "Your worth isn’t decided by one exam. You’re our youngest. You’ve always been our Michael."

Michael stared at their faces on the screen. His throat tightened. For a moment he considered keeping it simple, brushing it aside. But then... he smiled faintly.

"...I got in."

Both parents blinked. His father’s brows furrowed. "You... got in?"

Michael exhaled slowly, then continued, voice steady:

"Not just in. I... ranked first place. Among all the first-year students."

Silence. The mana lamp hummed.

His father’s eyes went wide. Then, like a dam breaking, Darius roared with laughter, his usual iron composure shattered. "Hahahahaha! That’s my boy!" His heavy hand slammed the table on his end, rattling the screen. "Rank one! The youngest Willson, stealing the spotlight from every pompous noble brat—Lilly, did you hear him?!"

Lilly had already covered her mouth with both hands, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I... I knew it. I always knew you’d surprise us. Michael..."

Her voice cracked. Michael looked away, the warmth in his chest almost suffocating. He hadn’t realized how much he missed them until now.

His father wiped at his eye with the back of his hand, trying to cover the slip. Then he grinned slyly. "Hah. Your brothers are going to hate this. They bragged about their placements for years. Now you’ve crushed all of them without even lifting a finger. I almost feel sorry for them."

Michael let out a weak chuckle. "Don’t tease them too much. They’ll hold a grudge."

"Good!" Darius boomed. "That’ll light a fire under their asses."

The three of them laughed together, the moment so normal and warm it hurt.

But when the laughter faded, Michael’s mother leaned closer, her expression soft again. "Michael... just promise me you’ll eat properly, alright? You always skip meals when you’re busy. And... and don’t push yourself too hard."

"I’ll be careful, Mom."

Darius’s tone shifted, firm but not unkind. "Son. You’ve stepped into a world that’ll test you harder than any dungeon. Remember this: strength without heart is nothing. Don’t lose yourself chasing power."

Michael held his gaze. "...I understand."

But inside, doubt gnawed at him. Because he knew what was coming—the demons, the ball, the blood. His parents couldn’t imagine the shadows waiting at the Academy.

The call ended, the hologram flickering out.

The room was quiet again.

Michael sat still for a long moment, hand resting on the darkened watch. Then, almost in a whisper, he said:

"...I’ll make you proud. No matter what."

-----

The morning sun spilled through the tall, arched windows of Lecture Hall 5.

Rows of students filled the tiered seats, quills scratching against enchanted parchment.

The faint smell of ink and old paper mingled with the crisp scent of mana crystals embedded in the lamps.

Michael leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, half-listening as chatter buzzed around him.

Leon was furiously flipping through notes beside him, Selena sat upright with an elegant calm, and Elara gazed toward the window, her silver-green eyes distant, as though she longed for forests far away.

The door slammed open.

"Good morning, children of arrogance and daydreaming!"

The voice boomed like thunder. Enter Professor Dorian Ford, an elderly man draped in scholarly robes, his long gray beard tied neatly with a golden clasp. But what drew attention wasn’t the beard. It was the five heavy tomes floating obediently behind him, carried by invisible mana threads.

"Settle down, settle down!" he barked, hobbling forward with surprising energy. "You’re in the most important class of your young lives History and Culture. Fail here, and you might as well crawl into a ditch when dealing with foreign royalty."

A few students laughed nervously. One poor boy in the front row whispered, "Is... is he serious?" only to receive a withering glare that nearly knocked him back into his seat.

"Now!" Professor Ford clapped his hands, and the tomes snapped open in midair, pages flipping wildly. Golden letters wrote themselves across the blackboard:

’The World Beyond Your Window.’

"Let us begin with kingdoms," Ford declared, voice shifting into lecture mode. "Humans, you know your fragmented realms well enough. Squabbling nobles, bickering kings, councils of fools... and yet, you dominate through sheer numbers and adaptability."

Several noble-born students bristled, while commoners snickered.

"Next! The Moonshade Dominion—the elves. Graceful, ageless, and insufferably smug. Elara, stop pretending you don’t hear me."

Elara straightened, cheeks faintly pink, as chuckles rippled through the hall.

Ford continued, eyes gleaming. "Elves draw life from nature itself. Their Queen holds dominion over sacred groves, their spellcraft unmatched in healing and elemental weaving. Remember this if you ever insult an elf in negotiations you’ll be barbecued before you can say ’apology.’"

"Moving on the Ironfang Bastion. The dwarves." His tone deepened, imitating a growl. "Masters of forge and rune-smithing, stubborn as stone. Their mountains are said to breathe fire from beneath. Insult a dwarf’s beard, and you’ll find yourself swimming in molten iron."

Some beastkin in the back roared in laughter.

Ford’s finger shot up.

"Which brings us to the Wildclaw Tribes the beastkin. Strength, pride, and a love for battle songs that will deafen you if you stand too close. They respect strength above all. Best them in combat, and you’ve earned a friend for life. Fail, and... well, you might become dinner."

The class shivered at his grin.

"And finally..." His voice dropped, the air in the hall heavy. The blackboard letters shifted, twisting into crimson script. "...the Demons."

Silence.

"Two thousand years ago, their Emperor nearly consumed Ethim. Only the Hero Louise Sergion and the Saint of Light drove him back, sealing him away. Yet his progeny the Demon Princes still fester in another dimension, scheming, waiting. Do not think for a second that their hatred has dulled."

Michael’s eyes narrowed. Of course. The ball... the summoning... it all ties back here.

Professor Ford straightened, tone regaining energy. "And who ensures balance today? The Council of Authority! Five seats, known as the Order Bearers. Among them stands your very own Principal, Herald Crimson."

Gasps echoed across the hall.

"Yes, yes," Ford waved a hand, "wipe the stars from your eyes.

Beneath them: the Great Eight Houses, the royal families, and the Hunter Association commanders of every guild from mighty to miserable. Together, they keep Ethim from collapsing under its own politics."

The tomes snapped shut with a heavy thud.

"That, dear students, is why you are here. Arcade Academy exists to unite not divide. Fail to understand the world, and you’ll repeat its mistakes. Now... notes! Start writing before I test you with a pop quiz so brutal you’ll cry for your mothers."

Groans filled the air.

Michael smirked faintly, quill unmoving. I already know this... it was all in the game’s lore compendium. But hearing it aloud it feels heavier. Real.

He exhaled softly, the faint unease in his chest growing. History always repeats itself. And the demons... are already moving.

------

Rune Explore Study class

"—Listen carefully, children! For today, you’ll hear what most mages and warriors have already forgotten."

The chalk in Instructor Harry Stonerick’s hand screeched against the blackboard, tracing symbols in sharp, confident strokes. His robe looked messy, his hair even worse, but when he spoke, his voice carried the conviction of someone guarding forbidden knowledge.

On the board, a circle with three intersecting lines began to glow faintly.

"This," Harry tapped it with his chalk, "is Fyre, the first flame rune. To modern spellcasters, fire is just fire—throw a fireball, burn a target, move on. But the ancient rune-carvers? They inscribed Fyre into weapons, walls, even the ground beneath battlefields. One symbol, properly sequenced, could burn for a century without a single drop of mana from its caster."

He underlined the rune and quickly drew another: a curved ’S’-shaped mark encased in a square.

"This is Seil. A sealing rune. Alone, it does nothing. But combine it with Fyre? You don’t just burn your enemy—you trap the flames around them, forcing the fire to feed itself. And if you inscribe Seil with a water rune, you create barriers strong enough to hold back rivers or flooding tunnels. Do you understand?"

Most of the class blinked blankly.

Harry smacked the chalk against the board. "Of course you don’t! Because no one teaches this anymore!"

His eyes burned with frustration as he drew again, this time a triangle surrounded by three small dots.

"This one is Vorin. A rune of absorption. Alone, it leeches ambient mana. But in a sequence, Vorin allows you to draw directly from nature. Wind, rain, sunlight, even the heartbeat of the earth itself. With Vorin, ancient rune-casters powered entire fortresses without ever tiring themselves."

Michael leaned slightly forward. ...Draw mana directly from the world itself? Then a well-placed sequence could run endlessly.

Harry turned, pointing the chalk like a sword at the class. "Do you know why the Necromancers and Liches of old feared rune-users? Because Seil and Vorin together could cut their tether to stolen mana. No reanimation, no endless armies of the dead. A single barrier inscribed with the proper runic cycle turned their greatest weapon into useless corpses."

Gasps rippled through the small class.

( To be Continue)